Page 24 of Cruel Cravings

The men exchange looks, then shift their bodies away from mine. I’ve struck a nerve, because they lower their voices and don’t address me again.

The waitress sets my pie down in front of me. “Don’t pay Bert and Carl any mind, darling. They’re both retired and have nothing better to do than sit around scaring everybody. You keep living carefree. Don’t let nothing trouble you.”

Though I only smile in answer, her words are appreciated.

The truth is, I wasn’t just speaking to Bert and Carl. I was speaking to myself too.

What use is it to wonder why the Cleaver—otherwise known as Kaden Raskova—did what he did? None of us will ever know unless we find a way inside his head.

Just like people may never get why I do the things I do.

I slice into my pie and delight in how the cherry filling oozes onto the plate, sticky and bright like blood. The filling almost looks like innards if I use my imagination a little.

I laugh to myself and then scoop up a huge forkful to devour.

The milkshake and slice of pie go so quickly, I half consider ordering more things off the menu. But then I notice the afternoon fading away through the diner windows and remind myself I have to get going.

I hop off the stool feeling several stares on me. The others in the diner watching as if they sense I’m different. I don’t belong with them.

Fine by me. I don’t need to belong anywhere; I just need to find my sister and shake off the shadow man.

The bathroom is cramped and smells of bleach. The mirror over the sink is permanently smudged and there’s no hot water when I twist on both faucets. I splash cold water onto my face and push away the growing sense of unease that’s creeping over me.

When I straighten up, I see him behind me in the mirror.

My heart drops. I spin around to his hulking frame in the bathroom window. He’s filling up the narrow space, his head tilted at an angle so that it falls out of view.

I can’t move. My legs lock, my mind going dark.

“No,” I whisper. “You’re not real! Get away from me!”

But no matter how many times I blink, he’s still there. He’s in the window watching me. Any bravery I’d had earlier is long gone. Old habits are too damn hard to break.

I bolt.

I race through the diner to more concerned stares, shoving the door open and stumbling out into the parking lot. He’s followed me, coming from around the back of the building up the side where there’s a gas station. He stops near the pumps to watch as I sprint toward the station wagon.

“Stay away!” I scream, fumbling with the keys. I dive inside and fight to slot the key into the ignition, my hand shaking so violently it takes me several tries. The engine groans like earlier, refusing to catch, and I slap the wheel in frustration. “Not now! Start up damn it!”

He’s stalking toward me now. Slow, deliberate.

The engine bumbles to life as he’s coming closer. His face is still a black void, covered by some kind of mask that covers his entire head.

I don’t have time to stay and consider why.

I slam the gearshift into reverse, tires squealing as I peel out of the lot. For a moment, he doesn’t move, standing there as he watches me go. But when I look in the rearview mirror seconds later, he’s gone.

I don’t slow up. My foot presses down harder on the gas. The station wagon jolts forward, far away from the diner and the trees and the man who won’t leave me alone.

As night approaches, I have two options. Stay on the road or pull over somewhere to check in at another motel. There are plenty along the highway, usually with glowing signs and advertisements about their special rates.

“You’re on limited funds,” I say to myself. I dial up the radio and then the heat. “A motel room two nights in a row would be a waste. You know you’re not getting any sleep anyway.”

It’s the truth.

There’s no way I’d be able to rest with so much unknown. I’m no closer to finding my sister and the shadow man’s still out there. Dr. Wolford’s probably sicced the police on me too.

“How’s everybody out there doing tonight? Hope you’re ready for more tunes. Pulse FM plays nonstop hits day to night, night to day. But sit tight. Up first is our sixty second news update, giving you not just the freshest jams but the most-up-to-date happenings from around the country,” croons the radio DJ. “Police believe a new victim of the serial killer the Cleaver has emerged. Winston Cooper was found in an alleyway?—”

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